Part of the week's studies involved a service project in Minneapolis. We were at a Lutheran church in the Phillips neighborhood, where many of the parishioners are immigrants from Latin America, and some of them shared their stories of immigration (They were all legal, but told of neighbors and families they knew being torn apart because they were undocumented) They gave us a better understanding of how hard it is to make it in a new country. The pastors there were a husband and wife team: soft-spoken, petite Pastor Luisa, a native of Chile, and tall, outgoing, white, Minnesota-born Pastor Patrick. I was in awe of his seamless Spanish.
After talking with the church members, the pastors showed us two storage sheds outside behind the church, an alleyway going between them. The one on the right had a mural on it, a beautiful green garden that said "God's Creation" in yellow and orange letters, and Spanish words.
The shed on the left side of the alley had also been painted, but by the ugly spray paint cans of local gangs. An incomprehensible symbol of squiggles covered the whole thing. Our job was to cover it with a mural of our own, with 17 people in our group and and hour and a half to work with. When we thought of our design, we got down to business: There was a tree, a big white and yellow daisy, and the words Paz and Alegria, peace and joy in big bright letters.
We were sweating in the sun but enjoying our task and the people we were serving with. But a little later, something really odd occured. A short man in a purple polo shirt and khakis approached us. He carried a plastic bag that I could see had bibles in it. "Oh geez," I thought.
A street preacher.
"Can I have a couple minutes of y'all's time?" He asked us. "Can I tell you about Jesus?"
We students took a pause from our painting and looked at him. "Um...well, see, we're kind of doing this for Jesus. We're doing a service project," we told him. Our leader and professor, Jeremy, a young thirtysomething with a tough-guy look but a good humored personality said to the man kindly, "We're kind of in a hurry to get this done, we only have half an hour until we need to leave." We did indeed, and still had lots of work to finish. "Could we paint while you talk?" Jeremy asked. The street preacher shook his head gravely. "I would not disrespect God that way. I need your full and undivided attention." "Well, ah, sorry," replied our professor, shrugging his shoulders. It was getting awkward. Jeremy went back to our mural, which was coming along nicely by the way.
"What would you say if a 15 foot angel was standing in front of you right now?" The man said heatedly. At that point, we all stopped painting and watched Jeremy and the man. We were all thinking the same thing: What the heck? Jeremy, clothes flecked with paint, face shining with sweat and sunblock, strided over to the street preacher. He was a good deal taller than the man, more intimidating for sure, and it really would be a much more entertaining story if the Augsburg College professor of religion had thrown a John Wayne-style punch right then and there. But this is not an entertaining story. Alas, we were trying to live out not only our Christian principles, but Dietrich Bonhoeffer's as well, one of which was pacifism (for awhile, at least). Jeremy looked the street preacher in the eye. "You are not a 15 foot angel."
And let me tell you, the street preacher didn't look so confident anymore. He went on his way, and we finished the tool shed mural half an hour later.
Bonhoeffer makes this point, which he called 'Christ existing in community.' It basically means going out into the world to see Christ in action through other people, and to experience Christ's love through others. We were trying to be Christ existing in our community that day by just painting a mural. See, in Bonhoeffer's German-Lutheran 20th century, people knew Jesus advised them to be more in tune with the problems in their community, but they were generally more interested in getting themselves to heaven. Making that your life's goal can be blinding. This street preacher we encountered certainly was blind to the fact that we were trying to do something good with God in mind, even though it was something as little as making an alleyway tool shed brighter. He seemed to have his head so deep in the book that he couldn't see God around his world, too. I hope that we all can learn to see Christ existing in our communities.
